


Muck

by yeaka



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Blow Jobs, Ficlet, M/M, Oral Sex, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-13 13:48:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29527338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Cor finds himself fraternizing with a pupil.
Relationships: Prompto Argentum/Cor Leonis
Comments: 15
Kudos: 75





	Muck

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He doesn’t show it on his face, but Cor Leonis feels _tremendously_ guilty sliding his dick along Prompto Argentum’s velvety tongue. He feels like he’s violating a chocobo. Prompto’s plumage is just as bright, and once, his sparkling blue eyes might’ve seemed just as innocent. But now Cor’s opened the door and heard one too many of Prompto’s rambling, gushing fantasies, and he knows what a freak he’s let into the Crownsguard. But then, it’s not like he hasn’t heard the glaives laughing about far worse things over ale. 

Prompto’s pretty pink lips open wide, and he slides down Cor’s cock, stuttering and halting but looking so good that he feels like a professional anyway, even when he goes cutely cross-eyed staring at the base. He’s _too cute_. Then he shuts those sweet baby blues and screws up his nose, forcing himself further, even though Cor never asked for that—he has to shoot out a hand to hold Prompto back. His calloused fingers slide through Prompto’s blond hair, slick with the remnants of gel but still so _soft_. Cor tries not to make a fist there, tries not to tug anything out—this whole thing is an exercise in restraint. He can’t go as hard as he usually does. Or shouldn’t. He knows Prompto’s stronger than he looks, thin and small but well-built and toned; he’s seen Prompto’s prowess on the battlefield. He still feels like he’s fucking a flower. He won’t crumple any petals. He keeps Prompto from swallowing too much at once and grunts, “That’s enough.”

But Prompto’s eyebrows knit like not taking Cor’s cock right to the root is an unacceptable failure. Cor’s grip loosens. Prompto squirms his way lower and sucks so hard that Cor forgets why he’s fighting it. He hasn’t had a good fuck in _ages_. And he’s never had a lover this enticing, even when he was also young and in his prime. 

He usually fucks glaives twice his size that can give as good as they get and fuck him senseless, make him forget all the times he’s lost and all the scars on his body. More often than not, he’s the one sucking dick, because he started at the bottom and still isn’t used to the top. But Prompto looks up at him like he’s more than a marshal—an ambassador, a _king_ , and he hates that he finds that hot. He hates that his chest clenches every time Prompto leaps at his attention. Prompto practically grows a wagging tail every time Cor praises him, and Cor plays it cool but melts inside. 

Cor’s tried to resist, really has, and still maintains this is a one-time thing that means nothing and will never happen again. But Prompto’s just so irresistible that a part of him knows that’s not true. He might be praised for his resilience, but this one little twig smashed through his defenses and into his office, onto the floor in front of his chair, right up between his legs. They’re both still dressed, and there was no fanfare, but that doesn’t make him feel better—just makes it more _dirty_. He may as well have just fucked Prompto in the showers after practice like he wanted to.

Except then the rest of the Crownsguard would’ve surely jumped in, because every last one of them has to have checked out Prompto’s taut rear at one point or another and imagined just how tight it must be. 

Cor shudders and tells himself he won’t find out. He won’t take it that far. He knows Prompto would go for it. _Wants it._ But someone’s got to be the adult and draw the line. 

He’s failing pretty miserably at that. He watches Prompto gradually take more and more, occasionally stopping to splutter but never really gag—he must’ve done this before. Cor can’t help wondering with who. Prince Noctis, maybe. Prompto’s an even bigger puppy dog for his prince. Or maybe Gladiolus, because there’s no finer specimen of raw _man_. Maybe even Ignis; suave and stunning and inadvertently seductive. Prompto’s stuck in all their orbits. It’s a wonder he settled for Cor’s cock when he could have all of those. He looks perfectly happy with what he has. He finally worms his way to the base, his nose shoved right up in the matt of dark brown hair at Cor’s crotch. Cor’s got his shirt rolled up just high enough to not be in the way, his washboard abs out but not much else. His pants are only unbuckled enough for his cock to stick out. And it’s all gone from view. He can feel himself weighing down Prompto’s tongue and stretching Prompto’s jaw to the limit, poking the back of Prompto’s throat. Then Prompto takes a stifled breath and _sucks_.

Cor has to grit his teeth not to scream. The pleasure’s ridiculous. The fist that’s not in Prompto’s hair—the one draped over the arm of his desk chair—clenches tight. His blunt fingernails are digging grooves in his palm hard enough to draw blood. Prompto sucks and sucks, then slowly pulls away, still hollowing out his cheeks with enough force that it’s visible. He gets right to the end and suckles at the head, his tongue playing with the foreskin, and Cor’s eyes roll up the ceiling so he won’t memorize the sight. He doesn’t want to picture this again. He jerks off enough to thoughts of Prompto’s pretty face. He’s thought of wiping his dick across those light freckles more times than he can count. And that’s disgusting and really needs to stop. 

But Prompto licks a vein on the side of Cor’s cock like it’s all he ever wanted. He swallows it up again and worships it with every part of his mouth. He slides down to the base and moans around his mouthful, the vibrations of which are _divine._ He has to be practicing daily. Maybe he sucks off all the soldiers between practices, and Cor’s just the final trophy.

That’s ridiculous, of course. He knows Prompto’s not like that. It’s probably just Noctis and/or Gladiolus and Ignis. Maybe all three at once. He’s got two holes and two hands, after all. And Cor shouldn’t think of using those but does. 

Prompto’s faster on the next withdrawal and doesn’t pull all the way off, but slams back down, picking up the pace. He starts bobbing up and down like a champion, rhythmic and clumsy but eager, twisting here and there and sucking hard, then blowing, humming, everything imaginable. It would’ve been enough just to sit on his tongue and rub the walls of his mouth. But it’s so much more than that. It’s a full-service blowjob. And then something lightly presses against Cor’s sac, and he realizes Prompto’s tentatively touching his balls. 

Cor doesn’t fight it. Probably should, but doesn’t. His hand is lax in Prompto’s hair, letting Prompto meet his own pace. Which is becoming relentless. And then Prompto’s cupping Cor’s sac and kneading it, giving it the smallest of tugs and plenty of rubbing, just more _sensations_ in a sensitive place. It’s not what Cor needs. But it’s exactly what he wants. He tries to shut his eyes and picture someone else—someone older and more appropriate, _not_ under his command, but he keeps thinking of Prompto’s skin-tight skinny jeans and exposed arms and the way he handles his guns. 

Cor’s going to come. He feels like he should last longer. He’s known for stamina on the battlefield and usually carries it into the bedroom. But this isn’t the bedroom. It’s his office at the Citadel and it’s too late for this nonsense and Prompto’s throat is so damn tight and wet and stifling hot—

He shoves Prompto off of him—lips in a big ‘o’, Prompto’s pushed back, and Cor’s cock pops out of his mouth with a slick noise and a trail of spit draping to his rubbed-raw bottom lip. Cor means to turn and aim for the waste-bin or just generally anywhere that isn’t right down Prompto’s throat and into his stomach, but then Prompto moan and leans in to kiss the tip of Cor’s cock with no small amount of affection. 

Cor bursts. He’s pointed right at Prompto’s face and comes all over it, splattering Prompto’s pursed lips and chin and cheeks, even the bridge of his nose—he closes his eyes in time, and a glob hits his lashes, another an eyebrow, even getting in his hair, and by then Cor’s mesmerized by the sight and can’t pull away. Prompto’s mouth falls open, tongue out again, and he seems all too happy to take as much of the load there as he can. His hands shoot up from Cor’s balls to caress the shaft, and then he’s pumping it out, milking it for every last drop. Cor comes more than he has in a long time. Prompto seems grateful for it, and when the stream’s done, he starts frantically licking the slit like he wants _more_.

Cor can hear him swallowing down what he caught in his mouth. But he nuzzles Cor’s flagging dick like it’s not enough—like he wants a full glass of Cor’s cum to drink down. With his load spent, that shouldn’t be hot. But it is. It takes a few seconds for Cor to gain the wherewithal to push Prompto back. His cock falls against his open pants, and he hurriedly stuffs himself in with one hand while he turns to the tissue box on his desk.

When he’s turned back around, he finds Prompto licking the extra cum off his fingers. He scoops the glob off his eye and thrusts that finger into his mouth, closing around it and sucking it down. The man’s a menace. 

Cor leans in before it can get any worse. He swats Prompto’s hand away and scrubs the remaining smears off Prompto’s face. He’ll still need a proper shower. It’s too late to go to the training yard for one, but at least he’ll look decent enough to make it home. Cor should probably drive him. But then, Cor doesn’t want to know where Prompto lives. He doesn’t need the temptation. 

He finishes and throws the dirty tissue away. Prompto’s eyes open, and he mutters sheepishly, “Thanks.” It’s amazing that he can be so hyper sometimes and so vulnerable-looking others. He goes from a sex kitten to a beloved pet in an instant. Except when Cor looks at Prompto properly, he notices the tent between Prompto’s spread thighs. There’s no wet patch at the front. He hasn’t come, but he wants to. And for all Cor’s problems and hang-ups, he’s not a bad lover.

He’d meant to send Prompto away. He _should_ send Prompto away. He should sternly remind his star pupil that this won’t earn any special treatment and won’t happen again. But instead he sighs and gestures up, muttering, “Come here.”

Prompto perks up, chirping, “Really?” His imaginary tail’s wagging again. Cor nods—Prompto earned it. 

He scrambles up and into Cor’s lap like it’s the best present he could ask for. He’s heavier than Cor expected, which is good—a reminder that he does have muscles and skill and isn’t some useless waif but a warrior. Not one that belongs in Cor’s bed, but worthy of a tryst. 

Cor slides his hand into the front of Prompto’s pants, bound for hell.


End file.
